To Whom It May Concern

I’ve always been interested in writing on this site. As of late, I’ve had nothing to write about. My own personal blog is collecting cobwebs due to how uninteresting my life is. I wish I knew how bloggers do it. How do they find things to write about?

In any case, I’m starting my Medium journey with something of a reflection. I wish I had something brighter and funnier to write about at the moment I don’t.

So here we go..

To Whom It May Concern:

I am fragile. I hate to think that I am but the more I interact with people, the more I realize how fragile I am. Most of my interactions are with people online. I’m not a social person not because I don’t want to be but because I’m afraid. I’m afraid of rejection. I’m afraid of saying something stupid and being embarrassed. I’m afraid of being judged and I’m afraid of being disliked and all that comes together in this little wonderful bubble that most would classify as anxiety.

I was bullied a lot throughout school, up until high school. Throughout my life, I’ve been dumped for no reason I can name, and abandoned for reasons I can’t name and I’ve been surrounded by people who painted themselves as friends but suddenly disappeared out of my life for reasons I can’t explain. It resulted in the above statement which lead to anxiety and uncertainty, I suppose? I don’t know..

I’ve always denied that I had anxiety. I didn’t want to admit it or even think about it because — and I hate to say this — I always thought it was such a cry baby thing to say. I’ve been surrounded by people who often used these claims to silence me and push me aside and to have their way so I’ve always viewed it with a negative light.

I denied it because I felt it was a weakness; that it made me seem far too fragile than I’d like to appear but really, no one can outwardly see what happens to me during a panic attack or just during general moments of anxiety. The tightening chest, the rapidly beating heart, the unbearable feeling of nausea and quite painful stomach aches, the loss of appetite and energy, the need to cry for no reason otherwise your chest will explode.. and so on and so forth. You know.. If you have it, you know what it’s like.

To Whom It May Concern, I’m not saying all that to make you feel sorry for me. I don’t want you to feel sorry for me. I just wish.. You’d understand. Lately, it’s something that I’ve become familiar with. It’s something that you made constant in my days and it is likely not an intentional thing.

I hate crying ‘anxiety’ when I feel upset by something and the guilt of feeling the way I do only makes it worse.

I’m the type of person that tends to bottle things up until they fester or go away. I have this inherent fear of being ridiculed if I share; that maybe people won’t take me seriously. I also have this habit of overestimating my own value when it comes to others. I like to think that I’m important to someone, to some people. I’d like to think that if I left, someone would chase me and tell me not to leave or ask me ‘why?’ but in this case, I turned out to be wrong again.

I thought, because we were friends, that you’d talk to me and ask me why I left but I was wrong to believe myself anything above ‘familiar acquaintance’. I thought that, because we were friends, you’d be more considerate towards the vulnerability I’ve shown; towards the fragility I shared.

It’s a terrible thing to live with this need of validation.

It is a terrible thing to feel like you need your friends to constantly validate you and constantly reassure you that ‘you’re fine’. ‘Things are fine’. ‘Don’t worry’. It is a terrible thing to live in a bubble of paranoia constantly reassessing what you’ve said and done and constantly wondering if you’ve offended them, if you’ve overstayed your welcome, if you were being overbearing or obnoxious or too friendly or not friendly enough, or if they like you or if they would be there when you needed them or if they would miss you if you’re gone or.. or.. or..

You see? I can’t help it.

Some people would dismiss it. It’s easy to say ‘Well, just don’t think about it too much.’ It is easy to talk about how I should move on and how to not let it bring me down but what people don’t know is that I tend to obsess as a result of anxiety. I’ll think about it for days. I’ll think about the ‘why’s and the ‘how’s and the ‘when’s. The ‘should have’s and ‘could have’s. I’ll think about if you think about me. I’ll think about if you ever cared about me or saw me as a friend and then suddenly It’ll all not matter to me anymore.

To Whom it May Concern, I thought the world of you and I thought you thought the world of me. I have this tendency to always see the best in others and never assume the worst and frankly, it has left me more than disappointed on many occasions and although I am disappointed another time, I have no regrets and it will not change my perspective. We had a nice few months together.

We’ve learned a lot about each other but I don’t think you learned enough about me as I’ve learned about you. I don’t think you took the time to learn about what makes me feel self-conscious and insecure as I took the time to learn about your likes and dislikes. I’ve boasted many times about being fine and that I’m a normal person but I’m starting to think that I am less fine than I originally thought.

To Whom It May Concern, thank for the laughs and the good times. I hope that one day I’ll learn to be better when it comes to people and I hope that one day I won’t be as hard on myself when it comes to my flaws.

Yours truly,

A Frantic Fox